


Kinderlied

by Yessica



Series: Whumptober 2020 Yessica Edition [29]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eye Trauma, Gore, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Character Injury, Medical Experimentation, Papyrus (Undertale)-centric, Spine Trauma, Torture, Unhappy Ending, Vent Writing, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yessica/pseuds/Yessica
Summary: Papyrus meets the worst of humanity in an isolated basement.(Whumptober day 31 - Torture/Experimentation)
Series: Whumptober 2020 Yessica Edition [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949233
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Kinderlied

**Author's Note:**

> We did it fellas! I got all the way to the end of whumptober.
> 
> This one is NOT for the faint of heart so please skip it if you can't stand graphic torture and character death!

The human treats him like a science experiment.

They tie him up and walk around, humming to themselfs as they go about preparing the room. Papyrus is spread wide eagle, straps holding down all his limbs, his pelvis, and his neck. The floor is covered in a plastic tarp and he can only imagine what its intention is.

They look at him, size him up with narrowed eyes as if they're making a hard decision. Papyrus has to say something, but all the words die down in his mind before even forming completely. All his thoughts are too busy panicking to form into useful matters.

The human huffs, dissatisfied with themselfs, before leaving the room, leaving Papyrus alone in the terrifying room.

When they come back, they are not empty-handed.

The slightly dull edge of metal catches the light, reflecting horribly cold and with painful promise. Their other fist is curled around a large hammer with a wooden handle.

Papyrus wants to run. He wants to get up, and get out, and get as far away as possible from this person. But he can't move. Both in body and spirit, helplessly left to their mercy.

The human is whistling now, an upbeat tune that Papyrus has heard echoed in the high notes of children's voices once or twice since coming to the surface. The contrast between that innocent sound and his tormentor's maniacal grin leaves him feeling sick.

"I spy with my little eye..." they mumble, approaching the table he's tied down on. They leer over him. The hammer taps against the metal surface, hollow sounds reverberating against the walls.

Soundproof. Nobody to hear Papyrus scream.

"H-Human-" he starts, trying to force bravado into his voice which he doesn't feel in his soul, but they look at him with a little frown, the happy glee so suddenly transforming to displeasure it leaves him speechless.

"Do shut up. I can't work while you're being noisy."

Papyrus tries to respond, but suddenly there is a finger in his eyehole and while it doesn't hurt necessarily, it is still a far cry from comfortable. It feels... odd. Like poking at his bones, but instead it digs right in.

Digs in and scratches against the inside of his socket, inside his skull. Nail against hard cartilage making little unpleasant noises. He wants to trash his head but is restrained by the strap holding his skull firmly against the table. The human smirks at him, delighted.

"How do these work, hm? Do you know?" They tap the inside of his nasal bone, a small push that has shivers running all the way down Papyrus' spine. It might have well been the hammer, each touch drilling through his head. He makes a sound that is somewhere between fear and anger and the human pulls back. "Though it doesn't matter. We can find out!"

The tone of voice - the detached, clinical way of speaking. It reminds Papyrus of something else. Someone else.

Somebody he has long forgotten but who his body remembers, visibly shaking now. It's funny how the most terrifying things can loop back when you least expect them to.

The sound of metal against metal comes next. Suddenly, the human has his instruments in his hand again. He's assessing the empty sockets before him with a curious gaze.

"N-No... Please stop- You don't- it doesn't-" Papyrus realizes he's not making any sense then, but his mind seems to have gone into meltdown, running in circles of worry and panic and pure unrestrained fright.

He is _frightened_.

He trashes harder, pulls against the bonds until they're digging in painfully, trailing dust on the floor, but it's no use. Carefully, as if not to hurt him, the chisel is positioned. Right against the outer edge of his eye socket. Cold and sharp and a promise for agony yet to come.

"Don't-don't-don't-don't-" the only sensical word still coming out of Papyrus' mouth. Don't do this. Don't hurt me. You don't have to be like this.

The human shushes him, almost like a parent talking to a distressed child. The hammer caresses the side of his face. "Shush, shush, It's alright. This won't hurt a bit. Maybe it will even widen your field of vision." Then the smile returns. Sharp and dangerous and showing just the barest glint of canine. "Just you wait and see."

And then the hammer descended.

* * *

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..."

Papyrus struggles, chest rising and falling erratically against the human's fingers. They lay their other hand against his neck, pushing down to constrict an airway that is not there.

Their index has come to rest against his lowest rib on the left side. They grab it and wiggle slightly as if to test its flexibility.

There is none, bone creaking unpleasantly at the unnatural movements, and Papyrus gasps at the sensation.

The human's palm moves up and brushes against the inside of his jaw, impeding both movement and sound. Then - with the other hand - they pull hard.

Papyrus lets out a smothered yelp at the pain shooting along his rib as the bone is slowly forced into a direction it is not meant to bend.

His soul feels tight, straining magic trying to resist feebly against the inevitable snap. And snap it does, with the sound of a single twig breaking underfoot in a deserted forest.

A sound infinitely too small for the agony that follows.

Pain instantly spreads through him, the place where the rib was once connected to his spine now a white-hot burning point, branching off into the rest of his body.

It hurts, sharply for a few moments, then faded into a pounding ache with a matching beat throbbing inside his skull. He doesn't realize he has closed his eyes until he feels something hard tap almost gently against the side of his face.

Papyrus opens his remaining socket slowly, vision blurred by both the injury and blinding pain, only to realize with mounting horror that it's his own detached rib pressed against his cheek. The human drops it and it clatters against the tile floor.

"This little piggy went to the market." Their hand closes around the next rib, above the one they just tore off, and Papyrus barely has time to blink before another snap resounds through the room.

A second wave of suffering washes over him, somehow worse than before, and the human is still talking.

"This little piggy stayed home." Their sing-song voice is giddy with sadistic glee and all Papyrus wants to do is cry.

When their fingers curl around the lowest rib on his other side, he physically jolts against the touch, pulling at his restraints even harder than before. The human simply giggles.

Scared whimpers force their way out of his throat, despite the other hand still pushing against his mandibular. His tormentor pushes slowly, as if he's testing the exact breaking point.

Papyrus shakes his head, emitting sounds that might be pleas for them to stop or just random noises. They continue to relentlessly force his rib out of position.

The snap is much louder now, a crack extending down the broken bone that seeps red marrow. It drips against the ground in little pitter-patter sounds, barely noticeable over the human's voice, now high in its excitement. "This little piggy had roasted beef."

They tap it against his nasal bone playfully, before dropping it among the others. Their eyes are drunk with pleasure. Papyrus tries to raise his head. Black dots dance in front of vision, magic rushing to maintain the detached parts and keep them from dusting.

There is one final floating rib left, and the human grasps it almost eagerly, hands clammy and cold.

They try to do it quickly again, but the crack sounds wrong and Papyrus screams in sudden renewed terror as he can feel something splintering. The human draws back with a surprised little giggle. "Whoopsie."

For a second everything is simply too painful for him to know what is happening, but Papyrus blinks through the agony to see the damage. His rib sticks out at an odd, outward angle, more red seeping from the fractured edges, but still attached.

The sharp sting doesn't fade this time. Just continues as an inescapable pain that makes it hard to think. Magic residue rises in his chest, but he forces it back down, loathes to waste the precious energy.

After contemplating the disaster the human grabs the broken bone, wrenching at it harshly. "This little piggy..."

The rib refuses to give, so they push inward instead, shattered bone pieces digging into the open wound. There is a constant stream of begging and whimpering coming out of him and Papyrus doesn't know how to stop it.

"... had none." Then, they pull downward suddenly, and the bone finally rips off.

Everything goes white for a moment, his world nothing but pain and light and warm liquid flowing out of broken ribs. The sound of his own wretched sobs are dull and far away, barely able to reach his consciousness.

The human is laughing loudly.

When some semblance of reality finally returns to him, Papyrus can only look in shocked disgust as the human sucks on one of the ripped off pieces, marrow staining their lips.

"And this little piggy cried 'wee wee wee' all the way home."

Papyrus blinks listlessly, barely able to focus on their pleased expression. They look at the rib in their hands, shrug carelessly when they toss it into a corner.

"We'll worry about reattaching those later," they remark, striding over to a nearby table and returning with gleaming, metal tongs. "For now... how about those vertebrae?"

* * *

They grow bored eventually.

Papyrus never thought suffering could grow stale. Had never expected the constant torment to warp into something almost comfortable, a blanket of familiar suffering he could hide beneath. He barely reacts to their torture anymore – too used to the pain to care. It has become his new world.

The only thing he did anymore was begging for them to kill him.

With a neutral expression, they observed the damage they have wrought on him. Papyrus' legs are gone, sawn off at the kneecaps. His arms are still attached, though several fingers have been removed by the human in a fit of rage when they stopped receiving the responses they were hoping for. Papyrus can feel the fracture in his skull the most, with any movement of the air against it aggravating the wound in new stabs of hurt, magic spilling loose.

"I guess you're finally broken beyond repair..." they mutter to themselfs, but Papyrus just nods.

He doesn't want to be fixed anymore. He just wants it to end.

"It can't be helped." They grab a jar they left on a metal tray next to the operation table. It is filled to the brim with a cloudy liquid and as they unscrew the top a nauseating smell fills the room, sour and alcohol. "At least I get to keep the important bits."

With no energy left to be horrified by the revelation, Papyrus realizes they intend to keep his soul.

Maybe it would be worth mentioning that this is not possible. That human souls and monster souls don't work the same at all. If they rip Papyrus' soul out of his body, the magic keeping him together will simply cease. His soul with fade like snow under the sun and his body will turn to dust in seconds.

But even then he doesn't care. Removing his soul from his body would mean death. A respite from the suffering.

So he closes his eye instead, waiting for the familiar cold he knows will soon engulf him. They're still humming, an idle melody of childish complication.

And finally, for the first time since coming here, Papyrus cries.

**Author's Note:**

> [my Tumblr](http://sharada-n.tumblr.com/)


End file.
